At the seething and fiery centerHe sits upon his ebon throneWithin his halls of darknessWhich no man has seen and survived the vision

Both blind and bereft of mindHe pipes unceasingly on his reed fluteAnd the notes that rise and fall in measured patternsAre the foundations of all the worldsEver calculating in sound the structure of space and time

Were his flute ever to suddenly fall silentAll the spheres would shatter into one anotherAnd the myriads of worldsWould be unmadeAs they were before creation

The flute of the blind idiotBoth makes and unmakes the worlds in ceaselessCombinationsSpinning on the woven carpet of time

No creation without destructionNo destruction without creation

To unmake a thing is to make anotherEach time a thing is madeAnother is destroyed

The idiot god on his black throneDoes not chooseWhat shall rise into beingAnd what should pass awayHe cares only to maintainHis mindless unholy music ofRandom creation and destruction

No living creature can look upon his faceAnd endure it's terrible heatAnd black radianceThat is like the reverberating unseen rays of molten ironWhich strike and burn the skinOf those who would dareGaze into the countenance of the idiot god

Never does he receive supplicantsIn his black halls of uncouth angles and strange doorsNor does he ever hear prayers or answer themEndlessly he pipesAnd endlessly he devours his own substanceFor his hunger is insatiableAs he consumes his own wastes after the custom of idiots